Settling in but still unsettled.
May 15, 2006Yesterday we went to a nursery. To buy babies! I made that joke to, oh, eight people yesterday. “Get it? Babies? Nursery? Ho!” No one laughed. I am surrounded by jerks.
Anyway, yeah, we bought plants and stuff. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea how not to kill plants. On the other hand, I am excellent at killing them. Here’s my method.
1. Bring a plant into my house.
2. Attempt to care for it. You’re supposed to water them, right?
3. As it begins its slow journey to the grave, alternate weeks of avoidance and denial with bursts of panicked and clumsy tending.
4. Throw it out. Vow never to buy a plant again.
I walked up to a gaggle of nursery people and asked for their help. I was looking for some lovely yet not-easily-murdered flowery plantiness I could perch on our front stoop. I was hoping one of them would get up, pick out a plant and place it in my hands.
But they kept providing me with information. I couldn’t process it. My mind wheezed.
“You could get a zerbertifora, or a ferfilligan,” they mused.
“Well, isn’t that the obvious choice?” I said.
“Really, you’re safe with any annual,” one of them said.
“What’s an annual?” I asked. They laughed.
“No, really,” I said, and they looked concerned for me.
I ran away from them and continued my disorganized, roundabout search for pretty crap to plant. I grabbed some stuff, but probably it was all the wrong kind. It was hard to concentrate, what with all the yelling at my son I had to do.
These days I like to yell at Henry at least five or twelve times an hour. I feel that this builds character. If I continually address him in a high-pitched shriek, he’s sure to be filled with love and respect for me! So: “WOULDYOUSTAYSTILLYOUCAN’TRUNINHERE.” Or! “STOP. TWIRLING. RIGHT. NOW.” Alternately, “OH MY GOD I NEED TO LOOK AT THIS. THIS PLANT THING. STOP PULLING AT MY ARM. LISTEN. ARE YOU LISTENING. YOU’RE PULLING AT ME SOME MORE. GAAAAAAACK.” When I wasn’t losing my shit, I was tsk-ing at my husband for the loss of his. “He’s just a baby,” I would murmur calmly to him. “Please, have some perspective.” It’s amazing how much more tolerant you can be when you’re merely observing the irritating behavior.
Sadly, most of the time I'm more than an observer. It seems these days that anything I want or need to do will be frustrated by Henry’s opposing desire. I am either being yanked one way when I’m trying to go another or sat upon when I need to get up or pulled off a chair when I need to sit down. He aims to thwart me. All the time. And I’m not enjoying it.
I find myself employing the horrible Clenched Teeth Hiss and the Strangled Cry of Blinding Rage. I am becoming that horrible mother who holds her kid’s hand a leetle too hard and walks a little too fast as he trips behind, yelling “You’re hurting my hand!” These episodes are usually followed by the need to weep or throw up. Or, hell, both! Every day, several times a day, I marvel that I’m not locked away somewhere.
It doesn’t help that I’m enjoying some rather breathtaking back pain (did you know that your back can hurt so much you can barely breathe, and yet you still remain conscious? I know it now! And yes, I’m getting medical attention, thank you concerned readers). And the constant pain is reducing my tolerance to, oh, about none.
It never fails to amaze me how someone I love so very much can incite in me so much anger. That I can be so angry at someone who is so goddamn adorable. When he goes to bed every night, he announces, “It’s time for me to tuck up,” and he pulls his blanket up over his head. Tuck up! Every time he says it I want to eat him. And his little candy toes.
I know we’re all under a crazy amount of stress, and I’m clinging to the hope that we’ll all begin behaving better, and soon. That’s what I’m doing right now—I’m clinging. I know this will pass.
At the end of the nursery trip, as we stuffed our car full of assorted plantery (I made a word!) Henry turned to me and said “I always love you, no matter what.” And then we sure as hell got some ice cream.
Reader Comments (100)
Today's post inspired me to 'delurk' because I am absolutely relating to the constant irritation that a 3 yo can cause. A big part of my frustration stems from the discomfort of being 8 months pregnant. It's really not fair to my son, actually... I've kind of changed the rules on him. Whereas previously I would have been happy to walk to the whole length of the park with him, now I demand that he stays within a small radius while I sit on a bench. He complies for a time, but the minute he sees another child run through the park, he follows. Then I can be seen waddling after him, yelling that he needs to stop, he's going too far, come back, come back right NOW, and feeling like a a complete ass. My face gets flushed, my heart rate soars, and after I've finished marching him home (holding his hand a little too tight, of course), I have to do 10 minutes of deep breathing just to get my blood pressure back to normal.
For now, my solution is to stop taking him out. Thank God, my husband gets home pretty early and can do all of the public ventures with the boy. They do the shopping, and they do the park playing. I simply do not go anywhere with him on my own. This is a temporary luxury, though. After I have this baby and I no longer have the excuse of my enormous-belly-as-physical-handicap, I'll have to develop some different coping strategies. God help me.
And oh boy! With a three year old around, it sure does come out a lot!
I felt extreme pointy dismay when I became a hissing hand-yanker, but somehow through a combination of apologizing and explaining when necessary ("I'm sorry I snapped at you; I didn't get enough sleep last night", etc.) -- something I *never* experienced on the other end, believe me -- and continuing to still be "awesome mom" most of the time, I was able to come to terms with it. As always, love the blog.
t.
Terrible Two's, my ass - the time from three to four was far more trouble with my daughter, and my son is bearing out this theory. Solidarity, sister!
Re: why so much stress, I think just being in a new place and living this new lifestyle and missing our friends and being so utterly unmoored is a big part of it. There's other stuff, too, but really I think that's enough.
That being said, I'm opening a nice, big bottle of wine in honor of all us overwhelmed, grouchy moms. Cheers.
Because if you did that, and took pictures, you would not only get hate mail from the public who actually WITNESSSED the event, but also from the readers who see the pictures.
So! The yelling and the screaming are a much more viable option, yes?
BTW - I've killed CACTI before. Don't ask me how.
Please let me know which plantery ends up being successful for you. Also, if it ends up being successful for you, could you come to my house and plant some more of it?
I also have no idea how to plant or care for anything. And, I hate squatting and getting my hands dirty (and being in close proximity to living things like worms.) If you want to feel better about the way your lawn and/or porch looks, please come look at mine. Thank god the Russian woman who lived here before me planted many an annual, all of which still keep coming up each year. (or are those perennials?)
Hope you are feeling calmer and all happy gardener-y very soon!
I can so identify about the plants, especially wanting someone to say "buy this!" and not getting it. I've banned all plants and we bought a house with no backyard, but we still had to hire a lawn service--no kidding--to mow and mulch the little strips surrounding the house.
Ah, ice cream--the only thing that keeps me from selling my children. Or worse!
You do, however, need to realize that some plants won't grow inside. Can you give us a list of what you bought? If you're not sure, can you look at the pictures and descriptions on the little stick-like things poking out of the pot? We may be able to give you some guidance! How very cool would that be!
And this:
"It’s amazing how much more tolerant you can be when you’re merely observing the irritating behavior."
I'm getting that tattooed on my forehead.
Okay, maybe I'll settle for a t-shirt.
That is my personal mantra on bad crabby days around here (mine or the kids'). My kids have candy toes too at the end of a day (at least, if they've taken a bath), what a coincidence!
As for the kid, boys will rapidly become deaf to the sound of your voice if you keep warning them. You should stop warning him about everything for awhile. He will inevitably do something stupid that either gets him hurt or embarrassed. Then you can smile knowingly.